Leona’s first impression was that she had never before encountered so youthful a gathering of elderly ladies. Was it the Florida air? No, the answer was a facelift – which her aunt had confessed to when Leona remarked that she hadn’t aged since her last visit to England, years ago.

But it wasn’t just their appearance, Leona had registered. It was something they exuded.

When a man entered the action – Leona could think of no more accurate way of putting it – she had realized what the ‘something’ was. They hadn’t given up hope. And good luck to them!

A lady named Nettie had brought him along and Leona recalled his immediately casting an eye over the buffet.

‘Oh my, isn’t that a picture!’ the tubby little chap said to the hostess. ‘Nettie told me there would be a spread, Ruby, but I sure didn’t expect a banquet!’

Nettie patted her blonde coiffure, before linking his arm to establish ownership. ‘Ruby always uses the best caterer in town, Al. Me, I prefer to prepare the food with my own hands, even if I’m up all night—’

‘Which you look like you were,’ said Ruby sweetly, ‘and which caterer but the best would I use? What is money for, like my poor husband used to say.’

‘But me, I’m not extravagant,’ Nettie informed Al, and Leona wondered if he was making a mental note of that, to file with a list of pros and cons attached to the women available to share his remaining years.

Listening to the exchange between Nettie and Ruby, Leona had noted the competitiveness. But how lovely for the men, so evidently in short supply, she reflected as an elderly gentleman clad in a garish shirt and white trousers, a bright blue peaked cap on his head, arrived alone and was introduced to Leona and her mother.

‘If you English ladies ever get to Delaware, be sure to look up my daughter,’ he said, removing his cap to mop the sweat off his bald head. ‘And I have to tell you I am never going to get accustomed to the year-round heat here!’

After he had proudly displayed some snapshots of his daughter and his grandchildren, Leona said, ‘If the climate doesn’t suit you, Mr Pitkin, why do you live here?’

‘A good question, young lady! But to retire to Florida is what I worked for all my life. And what’s to go home for?’ he added with a shrug.

This seemed at odds with his demeanour when he showed the snapshots. And why was Leona’s mum now avoiding her eye? Had Mr Pitkin taken the words from Rebecca’s mouth? No, the thought from her head, since she would never voice it.

Leona took a cocktail from the tray with which a waiter was circulating and felt like downing it instead of sipping it, such was her hurt.